Scottish bands raiding the hamlets along the border, my father was brought in as mayor and then a sheriff was appointed to keep the outlands safe." She spread her hands in a gesture of doubt. "I hear many rumors of distant skirmishes and of highwaymen murdering and robbing the rich as they pass in their coaches, but the best my father and the sheriff have done has been to catch a poacher on Lord Talbot's lands. Even at that, the man wasn't a Scot."
"I shall resist the urge to boast of my Scottish ancestors lest I be taken for a highwayman or the like."
She gazed at him in sudden worry. "Perhaps you should take special care not to tell my father. He gets highly upset when any discussion about the Scottish and Irish clans arises."
Her companion dipped his head slightly to acknowledge her warning. "I shall try not to anger him unduly with such a revelation."
She led the way from the room, speaking over her shoulder. "I assure you 'tis not a family trait. I have no reason to dislike them."
"That's encouraging."
Erienne was somewhat dazzled by the warmth in his voice and failed to devote due attention to the stairs. Her slippered foot partially missed the first step, causing her to stumble and teeter precariously on the brink of a precipitous descent. Her breath froze in her throat, but before she could react, a long arm encircled her waist and yanked her back to safety. Caught against his broad, hard chest, she gasped in breathless relief. Finally, tremblingly, she raised her gaze to the face above her own. Filled with concern, his eyes searched hers until gradually the worry left them, to be replaced by a deeper, smoldering light.
"Miss Fleming..."
"Erienne, please." Her whisper was subdued and distant.
Neither of them heard the front door being opened or the mingled masculine voices drifting up from below. They were caught in their own private universe and might have remained there undisturbed for several more moments had not an enraged bellow roused them to abrupt awareness.
"Here now! What's the meanin' o' this?"
Still much in a daze, Erienne pulled away and glanced down to the hall below, where her father and another man stared back in equal amazement. The rapidly darkening, wide-eyed face of Avery Fleming was enough to unsettle her composure, but the thing that really roused doubt about the Tightness of her world was the coarse-featured visage of the thin, bony stranger who stood beside her parent. He matched her vision of Christopher Seton exactly. All he needed was a large wart on his chin to be her foe incarnate.
Avery Fleming's righteous display of anger fairly shook the house. "I asked ye what's the meanin' o' this!" He gave her no moment to answer before he ranted on. "I leave ye for no more 'an a moment or two an' come back to find ye flauntin' a man in me own... You!" Avery threw his hat to the floor, and his sparse hair stood on end. "Be damned! Betrayed in me own house! By me own kin!"
Red-faced with embarrassment, Erienne quickly descended the stairs as she tried to shush her kin. "Please, Father, let me explain..."
"Ahhh, ye needn't!" he snarled in derision. "I can see it all with me own eyes! Betrayed, it is! An' by me own daughter!" He flung up a hand contemptuously toward the man who came down the stairs behind her and sneered, "With this bloody bastard!"
"Father!" Erienne was shocked at his choice of titles. "This..." She also indicated the one descending down the steps. "This is the man you sent. Silas Chambers, I believe."
The raw-faced stranger stepped forward, bobbing his head in a confused, birdlike manner. He jabbed his hat out in front of him to gain their notice and began to stutter, "I... I a-a-am, I-I m-mean, h-he... he's n-not... ooof!"
The last was an abrupt exhalation caused by Avery when he stepped forward and flung his arms wide in a gesture of complete disgust. The gaunt man was brushed aside as the father's discomfiture burst in broad display.
"Ye mindless little twit! Have
Heidi Hunter, Bad Boy Team